Blood Infernal

by James Rollins

  Tears ran down Rhun’s cheeks. He shook his head, as if he indeed knew what she was thinking. She could read him just as readily, knowing the scripture that likely held him back from acting, from stripping her soul: For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

  She tried to get him to understand.

  I am not gaining the world . . . I’m saving it.

  She let that shine from her.

  Rhun drew her closer to him, gazing deep inside her. She saw for the first time that his eyes weren’t black. They were dark brown and threaded with cinnamon-colored lines, like the bark of a redwood tree, vibrantly alive in his pale face.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her.

  His lips brushed softly against hers, like a cold breeze from the mountains.

  She let her eyes close, defeated.

  Then those lips lowered to her neck and sharp teeth bit deep into her flesh.

  The little blood left inside her surged out in a single blissful wave.

  Thank you, Rhun.

  12:15 P.M.

  Rhun took great care, knowing death shadowed Erin’s heart. As he drew those last embers of life from her cooling body, he ignored the surge of ecstasy and focused instead on the erratic final beats of her heart. He needed enough blood of hers in order to transform her, but not so much to kill her.

  A moment ago, he had read the determination in Erin’s eyes, saw the knowledge there, the certainty—but most of all, he witnessed the love, that bottomless well of compassion in her heart, not just for Jordan, not just for him.

  For everyone.

  To save all, she was willing to sacrifice herself.

  And had not Christ made that same decision in the Garden of Gethsemane and upon the cross?

  How could I not honor her choice now?

  He felt her go slack under him and withdrew his teeth from her flesh, his lips from her skin. He stared down, still cradled against him, a woman he loved so very dearly in turn.

  Even now he hesitated, knowing what he must do next, yet terrified of it.

  Both for his sake and her own.

  Then he heard a heavy thump of her heart, the last of her life demanding him to act.

  He slashed with his karambit, slicing the silver deep into his throat. As his dark blood flooded forth, he dropped his blade, cupped the back of her head, and drew her mouth to that black font. He let his blood pour between her slack lips, down her open throat. She was too gone to swallow on her own, but he held her there, waiting, praying.

  He stared up at the dark sky, watching the sun die again, consumed not by the moon, but by the dread smoke rising from the lake, through the very gates of Hell.

  Then he felt a surge of hope—as soft lips firmed upon his flesh and began to drink, drawing him into a crimson bliss.

  Still, cold tears ran down his face.

  What have I done?

  12:16 P.M.

  Erin woke to cold blood in her mouth, tasting of salt and silver. She swallowed strength with each sip. More blood followed, awakening a dark passion inside her. Fingers rose to grasp Rhun by the hair, to pull him closer. Her tongue probed and stirred a heavier flow. She drank like she once breathed, in great gulps, as if she had been drowning and finally reached air.

  It was life as much as it was death.

  And it was ecstasy.

  Her body screamed for more, her arms clasped harder to Rhun, as if to pull him inside her, to draw everything out of him. She flashed to that intimate moment in the chapel when she had bathed him with her blood. It paled before this crimson rapture, as two fully became one.

  She felt him harden against her, rolling atop her, crushing her under him.

  Yes . . .

  But it was still not enough.

  She wanted all of him.

  Her teeth now tore into his neck, demanding, accepting no refusal.

  But then iron fingers snagged her hair and pulled her lips and teeth away from that blissful font. She struggled against it, straining to reach that throat, but Rhun was much stronger.

  “No . . .” he gasped out and rolled off her.

  Cold air blew between them, and she wanted to weep with loneliness. She craved that intimacy, that connection, almost as much as his blood. Her tongue licked her lips, searching for an ember of that rapture.

  Rhun covered his throat with his hand. “Wine,” he croaked hoarsely.

  Her sensibilities slowly returned, along with the fear that she had drunk too deeply from him. She stripped the silver flask from his thigh, uncapped it, and poured it over his lips. The silver burned her fingertips, but she held it steady, gasping as drops of wine spattered her hand, as fiery as acid.

  That fire burned the truth into her.

  I am strigoi.

  Rhun swallowed convulsively, finishing the last of the flask, then knocking it aside. He stood shakily and pulled her to her feet next to him.

  She rose into her new body, accepting it. Her senses expanded in an amazing manner. She heard every noise, felt every breeze, every scent was a symphony. The darkness seemed to shine around her. The malevolence wafting from the lake drew her, called to her.

  But that was not all.

  Hunger spiked inside her, drawing her gaze across the lake, to a heavy booming in her ears. A heartbeat. Marking the only human left in the valley.

  She wanted, needed it, longing for the heat it promised, for the blood it pumped, craving to slake that gnawing hunger inside her. She felt the source drawing nearer, coming slowly toward her.

  She took a step to meet it, but Rhun stopped her.

  “It is Jordan,” he told her.

  She blinked at the name, remembering, taking an impossibly long time to let warmer memories calm that craving to a dull ache. Still, it would not go fully away. She was not safe around him, especially not now, maybe not ever.

  Rhun clamped his hand on her wrist. “You must fight it.”

  She was not sure she could, finally coming to understand Rhun’s struggle.

  Without a free arm, Rhun nudged the Blood Gospel closer to her with the toe of his boot, pushing it ignobly through the snow. Erin was still archaeologist enough to instinctively reach down and pluck the ancient artifact out of the snow before it was damaged. But as soon as her fingers touched that worn leather cover, golden light burst forth, washing over her, dimming the worst of her craving.

  She straightened, noting how even Jordan’s heartbeat grew muffled.

  She searched along the shoreline, longing filling her anew, not for Jordan’s blood—but for the man she loved.

  “We must go,” Rhun urged.

  She allowed him to gently guide her through that fiery veil, letting her old life burn away behind her.

  12:17 P.M.

  As Jordan lurched along the shoreline, he clutched a fist against the wound in his belly. He was unsure if he was healing. He feared he had cast most of his angelic essence, along with his blood, into that demon. Still, an ember of fire burned in his belly, suggesting some dregs remained, but he felt even that fading fast.

  Still, he kept marching onward. His other hand dragged Legion’s black sword behind him, still dripping with the demon’s blood. He continued through the damnable fog as it smoked out of the broken piece of the gate behind him. After slaying Legion, he had fled the worst of that gibbering, maddening horde, as they gathered in those mists, greeting the larger abominations that slowly slouched into this world.

  Let them . . . as long as they leave me alone.

  He followed the only path open to him, sticking to the bank of the lake, cautious of the two remaining planes of the pyramid that still blazed across the ice.

  Farther out, the cone of Lucifer’s white light continued to shine, but even through the black mists, Jordan knew the purity of that white light was dissipating. With the gateway broken, it would only be a matter of time before that dark angel broke free.

  When that happened, Jordan was determined to be at Erin’
s side, if only to hold her cold body one last time. Still, a glimmer of hope remained inside him, driving him forward, one hard step after another.

  Maybe she’s still alive . . . maybe I can kiss her one last time.

  Finally, a ruddy glow appeared through the mists. As he drew closer, he saw it was the fiery sphere around the Sanguis pillar. He stumbled out of the worst of the mists and hurried forward—only to find that sphere empty.

  She was gone.

  He leaned on the sword and searched around, realizing he was not entirely alone.

  The lion cub waited at the edge of the lake, his gaze fixed on the ice. Jordan limped over to him, following that intent stare.

  Two figures moved out there.

  Rhun . . . and Erin.

  She marched alongside the Sanguinist, clutching the Blood Gospel in her arms. The glow of the book cast them both in a golden light.

  He wanted to cry with joy, to run to her side, but all he could do was fall to his knees at the edge of the lake, knowing he could not cross this outer plane of the fiery pyramid. He struggled to understand how she still lived, how she got through that barrier.

  Had the book healed her, had its glow allowed her to pierce that fiery veil?

  “Erin!” he shouted, wanting if nothing else to see her face again.

  She heard him and turned.

  The lower half of her face was covered in black blood. She spotted him, but there was no joy in her eyes, only sorrow. Rhun glanced back, exposing the wound on his own throat.

  Jordan knew the truth. It was not the book that had healed her; it was not the glow that had let her pass the barrier unharmed.

  I’ve lost her.

  Rhun touched Erin’s arm, and with one last desolate look, she turned away.

  “She is gone,” a voice spoke behind him. It was Elizabeth, soaked in blood, most of it her own.

  Jordan glanced toward the fiery blue pillar on that side, where Elizabeth had been guarding the Aqua stone. It still blazed strongly.

  “I was driven away,” Elizabeth explained. “Some massive beast, churning with tentacles . . .”

  Jordan didn’t care. He returned his attention to Erin.

  Elizabeth confirmed his worst fear. “I hear no heartbeat.”

  A tired sadness filled the woman’s words—mourning not his loss, but her own.

  Elizabeth sank to her knees beside him. As a strigoi, she could have crossed that barrier, gone out onto the ice. But she plainly had no reason.

  Rhun was lost to her, too.

  March 20, 12:19 P.M. NPT

  Tsum Valley, Nepal

  Erin wanted to turn around, to go running back to Jordan.

  Rhun must have read her desire—not because they were blood-bonded, but simply because he knew her heart, even this new silenced one.

  “You must go to Lucifer,” Rhun said. “That is your destiny now.”

  She knew he was right, so she continued across the ice, clutching the Blood Gospel to her chest, taking strength from it to keep going. With each step, the book cast out its glow more brightly, pushing back against the darkness, burning through the heavier mists.

  A scatter of twisted beasts came charging toward them, breaking away from the siege around Christian and Sophia. Something black shot out of the mists overhead and dove at them. Erin barely got a look at the featherless, reptilian shape before it struck that golden light around her and burst into flames.

  Rhun tugged her aside as its body crashed to the ice.

  Upon seeing this, the other beasts split away, fleeing that glow, slithering back into the darkness, wanting nothing more to do with that golden light.

  She and Rhun hurried on, careful of the cracks in the ice, winding their way toward Christian and Sophia. The pair was not doing well. They were an island in a roiling mass of demons.

  Christian had removed the sacred chain from the chest and slung the heavy links around his neck, even though the silver must burn him. He whipped the loose end of the chain like some sacred bola, lashing and striking out at the demons. It ripped through the horde as if those links were made of molten steel.

  Still, Christian’s face streamed blood, and his robes hung in tatters around him.

  Next to him, Sophia was even worse off. The small woman noted their approach and perhaps that was all she had been waiting for—holding out only this long by sheer force of will.

  Erin saw it in her eyes.

  Don’t . . .

  Sophia gave one last valiant effort, swinging around and spearing a beast in the back before it could attack Christian. But to do so, it forced her to let her own guard down. The horde was upon her, swarming over her, bearing her down.

  Christian tried to fight to Sophia’s side, but there were too many.

  Erin finally reached them, bringing her golden light, scattering the beasts. Something dark and spiny leaped away, leaving behind a broken body on the ice.

  Erin skidded to a stop and covered her mouth.

  No.

  Sophia, earnest and kind, was gone.

  Erin trembled, but Rhun steadied her.

  “Only the book matters,” he said. “It must reach Lucifer.”

  She nodded. Or Sophia’s sacrifice would be in vain.

  Still, it took a small push from Rhun to get her moving. Soon, though, she was running, flying across the ice, her limbs powered with preternatural strength, aiming for that cone of light. Demons gave way before that glow, but they no longer fled. They hissed and snarled in her wake, as if they knew that they would claim her soon.

  And they might yet get that chance.

  Even the Blood Gospel could not withstand such palpable evil for long. The golden light had begun to tatter, torn by those mists, shredded by the malevolence found here. The deeper she went, the worse the damage.

  Rhun and Christian did their best to compensate, flanking her, keeping away anything that dared to approach. Christian lashed out with the chain and struck a loping hairless ape. The hiss of burning flesh accompanied the creature’s agonized shriek as it rolled clear of their path.

  Erin concentrated on their goal: Lucifer continued to strain from his throne, shattering new links. His wings, feathered by black flames, battered against the brilliance that imprisoned him. Each strike dimmed that light, streaking it with darkness.

  She rushed to close the distance, but her strength faded with that golden light. Her legs ached, her arms felt too heavy even to hold the gospel, and her body began to scream again with bloodlust.

  Ahead of her Lucifer thrashed, tearing at the silver chains that bound him.

  Finally, she and the others reached the edge of that shining cone.

  Erin slowed, stumbling the last of the way. Christian outpaced her and reached a hand toward that white light. He screamed and yanked his arm back, pulling back a smoking stump, ending at his wrist. The light had burned away his hand.

  Christian swung to Rhun. Through the man’s agony, an even greater pain shone forth: the knowledge that even the Sanguinists could not pass this last barrier.

  Erin moved to join them, but as her golden light touched that barrier, it snuffed out, taking away her shield. Before the Sanguinists could react, a chitinous black beast leaped out of the mists behind her and landed on her back, latching jointed legs to her and sinking fangs into her shoulder.

  She screamed.

  12:25 P.M.

  Rhun whirled, striking out with his silver karambit, severing two of the creature’s six legs. It was enough for Christian to rip the beast from Erin’s back and fling the monster toward that cone of light. Its body struck that barrier—and blew away into a cloud of fiery embers.

  Rhun tugged Erin behind him, as he and Christian faced the gathering mass of beasts shadowing the heavier mists. Rhun bared his blade, while Christian slowly swung the end of the chain, back and forth, letting it scrape the ice menacingly.

  “Rhun . . .” Erin moaned.

  He turned, seeing a poisonous darkness creeping up from her n
eckline, boiling away her skin as it rose. She swooned on her legs. The Blood Gospel fell from her trembling hands.

  Whatever had bit her must have been venomous.

  He had turned to help her when something fell out of the fog overhead and knocked him hard to the ice. It appeared to be a leathery bat, grown to tremendous size. Needle-sharp teeth snapped at his face. With only one arm, he had to drop his blade and snatch the beast by the neck, keeping those jaws from his throat.

  Off to the side, Erin began to topple over, falling toward that white light, but Christian rushed forward and caught her around the waist with his bad arm. He hauled her to safety, while grabbing the gospel from the ice and tucking the book into his coat.

  As Christian retreated, Erin struggled in his grip, her head lolling, turning her face toward the light, toward Lucifer.

  Even now she seemed determined to complete her mission.

  Christian dragged her away, coming to Rhun’s aid. He slashed with his chain, knocking the bat creature away, burning a swath through its thick hide. It hissed and flopped back into the darkness.

  From those mists, darker shadows closed in on them.

  “What now?” Christian asked.

  12:26 P.M.

  Erin’s cold body ran with a poisonous fire. She felt the flesh melting around the bite wound in her shoulder. Her blood flowed heavily there, as if trying to put out that fire. The same venom ate at her face and ran down her arm on that side.

  Again.

  She had a hard time focusing through the pain, the nausea, but she knew that word was important. A moment ago, she had begun to fall. To brace herself, she had thrust out her arm, already flowing with toxins—only to have her hand and forearm pierce that blazing barrier. The purity of that light cooled her arm and vanquished that dark poison.

  Then Christian had caught her and pulled her away.

  The toxin was again flowing into her arm.

  Too weak even to stand, she hung in Christian’s arm. She found it hard to speak as her cheek blistered, but she had to get them to understand.

  “The light . . .” she gasped out. “I can pass through it.”

  “She’s delirious,” Christian said.

  “I can . . .” She rolled her head to face Rhun, letting him see the truth there, to trust in their blood bond, in their mutual understanding of each other.